Shadows and Light
by Elfreida
Summary: The Aldmeri Dominion want her dead. For the Dark Brotherhood, this is just good buisness. The Stormcloaks think that she just HAS to side with them because it was ordained by the gods. The Thieves' Guild never miss an oppotunity, and the Greybeards just want to guide her to her desiny. Confused? Aesuidhiel certainly is. And staying alive's only part of the battle...
1. Prologue

**~]} SHADOWS AND LIGHT {[~**

_**Prologue : Waiting**_

The cold felt like needles. It stung the cuts on my arms and bristled my fingers where the sores were open to the air. I looked around to the driver and noted the olive-skinned youth. He looked cold too. In fact, there was just something about the whole image that didn't seem right – the imperial uniform, the Cyrodiilian weapons, the green officers who looked as if they wanted to be just about anywhere else. I shifted slightly so that I could lean over the side of the cart. _There._ Stamped on the hubcaps. The Imperial Seal: a dragon, its wings bent into a rhombus as they spread out from its body. A symbol of strength and stability for more than two ages, now a sham as its represented empire crumbled.

I remembered reading about the rise and fall of the humans back ho –

_No. _

Not home.

Not anymore.

Everything I'd left behind – my family, _that life_, and even that blasted library my father valued so much – _everything_ was gone. Home? I had no home. I had no family. No name. _They _had taken it from me.

Admittedly letting it happen had been my choice, but that didn't make it better. And the choice had been between surrendering everything I'd ever believed to be right and being exiled from everything I'd ever known. A _choice_ indeed.

Well…that was how I saw it anyway. There are two things about that I doubt the Thalmor would have agreed with, the first being that there was anything ethically wrong with what they were doing. Having met them, I knew better than anyone outside Alinor what their secret was; why they'd had so much success, both politically and martially. Simply put, it was because they _believed_. Absolutely. That what they did was _right_. Every action was passionately dedicated to their cause and the whole concept of a second Aldmeri Dominion was founded by blind belief and unquestioned loyalty.

If it were not so frighteningly efficient, it might have passed for irony.

The truth was that they were nothing more than oppressors of everything that did not fit to their doctrine and they went to great lengths to enforce it. That system of control extended to every part of life from education to estate ownership, the Thalmor's installation of themselves as the ruling body just the end act. Myself – I once worshiped their ideology along with everyone else. _A naïve child._ Because that was the truth of living in the new Alinor state: we _believed_. Believed what we were taught; believed in the men who taught it.

Believed in the righteous 'greater good'.

Believed in the intrinsic superiority of the Aldmeri over the lesser, barbaric humans.

In fact, I might have continued to _believe_ had it not been for my unfortunate penchant for asking questions.

_Oh_.

My asking questions.

_That _was where all this started. Not in an imperial prison convoy, though it was as odder place as any for it to end. _Yes, here was where it would end._ The cold gnawed at my flesh like the famed beasts of the Northern Wastes and I stared down the track as it wended between the firs, knowing exactly what was waiting. So I was to die at the hand of the Imperials, _in Skyrim_, and for nothing so noteworthy as being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Fate certainly has a way of laughing.

What amazed me, though, was that I'd actually managed to get this far. Which brings me to the second point that the Thalmor wouldn't have agreed with: the alternative of _exile_. I saw it as exile because it meant I could never go back, at least without being killed. But I don't think they ever really intended to let me live long enough to leave the isle. It was by sheer luck, some nerve, and my sister's love that found me on a boat under the name of a business associate of hers. When I left, she spoke of slitting her own throat rather than letting the Thalmor torture the information from her. The thought made my blood seize. It was the last time I'd ever see her. I knew it rationally. I knew it in my heart. _My beautiful sister…_

And still they'd hunted me. Even if I hadn't been one of the Official Record Keepers or part of the Underground, they would never rest until they'd recaptured the 'one that escaped'. It galled them, one of their own slipping through their fingers. Perhaps dying now would be a mercy.

It'd certainly be cleaner.

Something dripped onto my hand. It was whipped away by the wind. I twisted my bound wrists up to touch my face and noted dimly that it was awash with water. _How strange._

I had thought all the tears dried up.

The pain echoing in my chest hadn't stopped since…_since I left her._ Since I knew I would have to leave Aeroniel to the mercy of those _bastards_. If I was rational (and being rational wasn't high on my list of current priorities) I hoped she was already dead. Because if she wasn't…it was _unthinkable._ I _couldn't_ think of it. Not now. She had offered her life to ensure mine. And I selfishly _agreed_.

_My beautiful, beautiful big sister…_

I crumpled under a fresh wave of weariness and grief, slumping down where I sat. _I wasn't built for this_. This _pain_. It never eased, just stuck there like a knife. Ever since the boat landed on the continent, I'd done my best to vanish, using every skill I'd ever picked up in stealth and guile, yet I couldn't hide from the _pain_. _This agony of mine._ Or the fear, for that matter. It ate at me; gnawed me. This never sleeping, never resting, always moving; never staying long enough for someone to notice.

_Oh, what woe had I become?_

I'd been privileged. My life was lived in the Glass City, jewel bright as the midsummer sun fell softly from high in the sky.

_A wondrous sight I would never see again. _

But there always had been shadows in Alinor. That city, filled with people and well-tended gardens, each melding onto the next like a well-oiled machine. It shocked me, when I set upon the roads in Hammerfell, for it was the first time I'd ever been somewhere truly chaotic. Everything in my life thus previous had been perfectly orchestrated and forcibly serene, yet this was a wonder all of its own. Somehow..._more_.

Yet I hardly noticed, moving from place to place. Across the desert by night; lost in the crowds the next day. It felt like a lifetime: from Hammerfell to Cyrodiil, hugging only the very edge of the country, not daring to set foot in the cities. I'd almost _believed_...

Then, shortly before closing on the northern border, my guide – Hamlin – disappeared in the middle of the night. I didn't sleep. I hadn't slept since. I _ran._

I reached the line, crossed it, and fell right into the trap.

For someone else.

_Irony at its very best._

And for all the Thalmor's enlisting the empire's help in pursuing their affairs, they yet seemed to have no idea who I was. Where I was going in such a hurry: they barely looked twice at me. They bungled me off, stripped me of anything valuable like good soldiers, and put me on the cart with the rest of the prisoners.

Where they were going, I didn't know.

It probably didn't matter in the end.

_I let gravity take its hold and leant heavily on the edge of the cart. _

I was going to die. All that running and fighting and hiding and trying…

Here, at the end of it all - after all the battles had been fought and all the words said - I couldn't, honestly, bring myself to care.

* * *

_**A.N: started this about a year ago and sort of umed and ared about it. You would not believe the research I had to do to make this cannon - information into the cultural evolution of the Admer and the militarial history of the Dominion is long and complex. Still, I think I have it reasonably correct.**_

_**I debated with myself whether or not to put this up now. I keep chipping away at it - I like it, personally. You know how you get an idea and end up writing good stuff for it? Unlike some others where I like bits and cringe at other bits. Still, now's as good a time as any. Edited this fist one thoroughly after posting it - after editing it the last time - and now I think I'm mostly happy with it.**_

_**Third long fic. The first one was Perihelion, which I really should take up again - Harry Potter (SHUT UP, EVERYONE HAS ONE!) the second being Senga (The Hobbit, which I have had some runnaway success with, for which I have to thank the fanbase!) but this is the first time I'm attacking this genre with 1st person. Rather find I enjoy it, however, so I'll see how it goes.**_

_**Reviews? (she tentatively askes with fluttering lashes) Oh, come now my pretties, give us a review? (love it/hate it/indifferent/bored) and thank you to the two I've recieved!**_

_**Disclaimer: I'll say this once - no, I don't own Skyrim, and yes, I did find the cover image on Google Images. A great piece of fanart to whomever out there owns it, I must say, and perfect once I found it (took a bloody age ;)**_


	2. Flying

**~]} SHADOWS AND LIGHT {[~**

_**Chapter One : Flying**_

"Someone poke her awake."

"Well I'm not doing it – I'm not even supposed to be here! I'd be half way to Hammerfell if it wasn't for you and your dammed rebellion!"

"Hold your tongue lest I silence it for you! That's Ulfric Stormcloak you're sitting next to!"

"And a lot of good it's done him!"

"QUIET BACK THERE!"

I resisted the urge to groan as this new piece of information filtered sluggishly past the headache. _Ulfric Stormcloak? Killer of Torigg, High King of Skyrim? _I suppressed another sigh as it all clicked into place. So, I'd managed to run into the man who was quite possibly the only person in a thousand miles higher up the Most Wanted list than me. _Wonderful._

"We were betrayed." The Nord opposite muttered bitterly. "The perfect ambush. I only wonder how they knew. Who could have told them? Dammed elves, likely, feeding their _precious_ empire."

I considered telling him that Skyrim at war was just as much a help to the Dominion as having the empire in their pockets, but I didn't want to reveal being awake. If there was one thing I'd learned, it was that most men (and men were men, no matter the race) tended to tell you a lot more if they forgot you were there.

"At least we can die in our homeland and not in some stinking Thalmor prison."

"I wasn't meant to be here! I only stole a horse; I have nothing to do with the Thalmor!"

"WILL YOU BE QUIET!"

The Imperial in charge seemed to have a permanent base-level of 'hacked-off'. In this posting it was perhaps understandable: a land under civil war was a gruelling and bitter prospect. The men around me fell silent, and I was left with the sounds of rattling wood and the crunching of snow on stone.

Somewhere to my right a bird trilled, and I saw in my mind's eye as it took off with a flick and blurring of its wings. The beat on the air filtered into my sensitive ears, and I pictured feathers ruffled by the motion; the way the snow disrupted its path as it fell from branches. For a moment, I was at peace – the future didn't exist. The past didn't exist. I could be the bird as it flitted through the firs in this land of ice and snow, free of the wars of world below, feathers lit only by the sun and the moons and the distant stars.

"Looks like we're reaching our destination."

The Nord's voice held a weary sorrow.

"Where are we?"

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I sensed his gaze, but there was little point to the ruse now. My eyes opened.

"So, you're awake at last?"

I blinked in the glare. Perhaps it was the fact that this would be the last time I'd see it, but the world seemed to sparkle, the snow like crystal. Far to the south, the sun would burn and spill like molten gold, but here it seemed to shaft _white_. Hasher, sharper, colder; yet beautiful in its own way. I'd never considered that before.

Fine moment to start.

"I don't suppose you've got a ticket out of here with your Thalmor friends?"

"No," I replied softly, staring past the pergola of branches obscuring the light. "I doubt that."

"Abandoned you here have they?"

"No." I shook my head. Everything looked so surreal.

"Huh."

The Nord had ragged blonde hair and a good number of scars. His lips were cracked from the cold wind and the lack of water, yet his eyes were much like his home; glacial and dyed faintly blue. Sitting next to him was a heavily built man with much darker hair, but it wasn't just the thick material binding his mouth that gave him away. Those grey eyes were like a dark pool in moonlight: deeper and more treacherous than you would ever think. Without knowing him, the iron in them was plain to see.

The authority.

The tyranny?

He glared at me as my gaze slid to meet them: a storm held precariously in the body of a man. He wanted to scare me, and in another situation I might've been. But I was beyond being afraid, least of all of something I could see; it was too tiring. I imagined my eyes as deep as his and caged my heart in malachite.

He raised his eyebrows.

"If I thought the Thalmor would be here to extradite me, I would've begged the Imperials to kill me at the border."

The blonde Nord frowned as if seeing me for the first time, but I looked away before he could meet my eyes. The road before us seemed to be broadening; the stone better maintained. The trees began to thin considerably, the track up ahead bending to the right, and then –

"Helgen."

The Nord followed my gaze and answered my quizzical look.

"You asked before: we're at Helgen."

"Military?"

"Occupied by legionnaires, yes."

"So we'll get a trial?"

We both turned to the Redguard on my left. His eyes were wide and desperate, hands twitching.

"I wouldn't count on it." The Nord said darkly as the cart passed into full sun.

"No – no, I can't die like this!"

"What's your name?"

"Me?"

"Where are you from?"

"Rorikstead. I'm…I'm from Rorikstead."

"Aye," The Nord nodded gravely. "A good place to think of."

"_No_…"

"What about you?"

I stared at the frost-bitten beams of the gate. We neared, and passed through, and I tried in vain to stay my heart from speeding up. I tried to think of Alinor in the first summer storm, all water and heat lit by the flash of lightning, but it was unattainable. _Fractured_. My throat closed. The Nord was speaking again, but I couldn't make out what he was saying. I forgot how to put letters together. My own thoughts were in an alien language and all I could process was the sensation of the cart slowing to a halt; the men moving, the white light stabbing down. The black birds circled, and with an unexpected horror I realised I'd forgotten how to move.

"GET UP, SCUM!"

A guard grabbed my elbow and hauled me from the cart, almost breaking my legs on the way down. I felt the pain as if it was happening to someone else; felt him release me with a disgusted jerk that sent me groundwards.

"Hey!"

The Nord rushed to stop me collapsing. The legionnaire glared, but any comment was cut short as the execution party arrived on the scene. I was shivering, violently, my body no longer mine to control. The Nord supported my entire weight with his shoulder as we watched the officers and the priest and the headsman, but I could feel the blackness at the edge of my vision. I'd thought I was ready to die, yet here and now, everything was simply failing. Even my will to stand.

"Alright, steady, _steady!_" The words were whispered harshly in my ear. By some miracle, I didn't shake apart at the seams.

"Damn elves." He muttered, but there was no longer so much hatred in his voice. With a firm push the weight was thrown back on my legs. I staggered dangerously on the twisted knee, the trembling unceasing, but somehow I managed to stay upright. For the first time I acknowledged the numbing cold seeping through the wraps they'd given me to bind my feet. It was the sort of cold that made muscles cramp mercilessly, but I was grateful for the loss of other feeling.

"Think of home."

"I have none."

So _pitiful _it was, yet I could summon nothing else. There was no emotion to the words. They just were. _I had no home._

The Nord stared with the beginnings of comprehension and sighed.

"I am sorry."

"THE PRISONERS WILL BE SILENT!"

A large guard stepped in front of the crowd.

"Fuck you!" One of the assembled Stormcloaks spat at the guard's feet. His reward was a boot in the gut.

"Faithless Imperials!"

"SILENCE!"

"Oh, by the Eight, _please_…" I could hear the Redguard from Rorikstead whimpering on my left. "_Please…_"

"Damned Empire loves its damned lists."

"THE PRISONERS WILL APPROACH THE BLOCK WHEN CALLED!"

"Courage, elf."

"Thank you." The near soundless words were whipped away by the wind, but the Nord inclined his head as his eyes met mine. I wondered what it would be to call this frozen land home and to have its strength harden you so.

"ULFRIC STORMCLOAK."

"It has been an honour…Jarl Ulfric."

"RALOF OF RIVERWOOD."

The Nord levelled a glare at the imperial officer, her helmet glinting silver as she glared back.

"LOKIR OF RORIKSTEAD."

"No! I'm not a rebel – you can't do this!" The whites of the man's eyes were suddenly painful to look at. My eyes were drawn to the taut muscles; the joints ready to spring. Knowing what was about to happen, I shut my eyes. Just shut them.

"QUIET! THE PRISONER WILL APPROACH THE BLOCK!"

"You're not gonna kill me!" My eyes snapped open as the man bolted, heedless of the way his feet skidded and tore on the frigid ground.

"ARCHERS!"

Time didn't slow. Time doesn't do that for something like this. The arrows pierced his back; he fell with a sick, half muffled crunch. And the Redguard of Rorikstead became another corpse on the road. I stared emotionlessly at the body.

I'd seen too many by now.

I'd seen them in the torture chambers of the Thalmor.

I'd seen them on the fringes of the Alik'r (though admittedly with the latter mummification had started to set in).

I'd killed...the memory plastered over my senses as I watched him go still; the feeling of flesh _giving_ before a blade. Muscle and tissue; the vanguard of life, cut like butter. My stomach rose. Nothing but yellowish bile came out, but the act effectively dissolved the rest of my memory. And strength. And vision.

"YOU."

I lurched forward with all the grace of one already dead and looked into the eyes of the man holding the list.

"Who are you?"

Silence.

"THE PRISONER WILL ANSWER!"

The officer – captain, I noticed vaguely – made to stride forward, but the man holding the list threw out an arm, giving me a look that could've been mistaken for pity.

"The Prisoner." I rasped vaguely, meeting his eyes but feeling my own so _heavy_. He frowned as if trying to work out what to make of me.

"Perhaps we should ask Elenwen, she's not on the list…" He muttered, scanning the soft Cyrodiilic papyrus. The captain scoffed.

"FORGET THE LIST. SHE GOES TO THE BLOCK!"

"I am sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset Isles."

"I'd rather you didn't."

He seemed thrown by this. I felt numbed once more, and would've been thankful for it if I'd been able to feel anything at all.

_Just dead. With a slight seasoning of bitterness. _

At last he seemed to understand, if only a bit, and nodded gently, indicating with the quill. With the same gait, I managed to limp to where the rest were gathered and watched the execution party get to work. Curious that they weren't being taken to the Imperial City, as was the custom. They were here to make a point: a statement. To end the war on the blade of an axe and be done. So very…human. It would certainly be of benefit to the Empire.

_Oh, ever the trained little historian – all politics and poetry; father would be so proud!_

"Ulfric Stormcloak," the Imperial general, Tullius, resplendent in the fine armour of his office, stepped forward to look the man in the eye. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use the power of the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

His tone held something like quiet disgust. Then it was all anger, busting forth in righteous and obvious condemnation; a declaration for the spectators. I was watching Ulfric's eyes. Even the agents of the Thalmor couldn't match that level of cold hate. It made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

I could hear the feet of the soldiers crunching the earth; the wind in the stones. The steady breathing of a dozen or more people who know that that indulgent habit is about to become redundant.

The gliding, flapping wing beats of the crows.

And, far, far away, the whispering of the forest beyond the wall.

Or maybe that was my imagination.

_A dull, grating roar…_

"What was that?" The man with the list looked round. I stared at him – he wasn't the only one spooked, either.

"It's nothing," the general seemed thoroughly done with the whole affair. "Carry on."

"YES, GENERAL TULLIUS!"

Again, maybe my imagination supplied the wearied grunt Tullius supplied in response.

"GIVE THEM THEIR LAST RIGHTS!"

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the Salt and Earth of Nirn, our beloved –"

"Oh, for the love of Talos! _Shut up_ and let's get this over with."

One of the Stormcloaks strode boldly forward, his frame screaming defiance.

"As you wish…" The priestess gave him a look of the same disgust as Tullius. The headsman grinned wolfishly as the man approached, his jaw set hard. The captain spat at his feet before using her own to force him to his knees.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials."

The axe rose.

"Can you say the same?"

_Thud_. The head rolled into the waiting basket with a sick thump. The captain, seemingly satisfied, all but kicked the limp body off the block where it flopped onto the cobbles; already a crimson delta as the blood ran freely through the cracks.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

_Was it justice? Was it ever justice when madness begot madness?_

"As fearless in death as he was in life." Ralof said quietly.

"NEXT, THE ELF!"

I couldn't tell if the roaring was in the air or my own ears.

"There it is again!" The man with the list looked completely unnerved, scanning the area with mounting alarm. "Can't you hear that?"

"I _SAID_ NEXT PRISONER!"

I felt Ralof's eyes back on me as I ordered my feet forward, not feeling them at all now. The Imperial turned back, worry falling to pity as he gestured to the block.

"That's it, nice and easy. It'll all be over in a moment."

_It was over the moment I saw those files on the seizure of estates in Valenwood…_

"FOR THE GLORY OF THE EMPIRE!"

_Oh words; just words, changed and repeated over and over…if I'd believed them…if I'd said them…_

But in that moment I knew I never would have. Maybe I'd never truly believed; I didn't now. I'd die without those words of loyalty on begging lips, even if they might have saved me.

A small comfort, in the end.

The plane of the world rose up to meet me. Then its axis tilted to the side. The large cobbles bit into my kneecaps, sprain throbbing vaguely as I shifted the weight. Little red rivulets wended round the sudden dam. My ears, always so sensitive, informed me there was a fog. I shook. There was slick, wet wood beneath my neck. My hair, lank and wiry and filthy, formed my pillow. And from then on I heard no noise at all, just a dull rushing as I looked up…and up. Into the one eye of the executioner as it rolled up my body, predatory in a way that made me feel as if I had no clothes on.

A last tear pooled in the bridge of my nose. It trickled down, past my eye, and mingled with the blood on my mouth. I didn't watch the rise of the axe, my eyes instead climbing past the headsman and to the open sky.

I wished it would snow. I'd decided liked snow. And I couldn't feel the cold any more.

_All over. Any second. A moment from now…oh Aeroniel…_

I blinked.

There was something in the air. Something…._huge_. For a moment…for just a moment I thought…

The headsman grunted with effort, preparing to –

"What in Oblivion is _that?_"

_It _landed on the tower (the keep shuddered).

_It _looked right at me with cold, red, reptilian eyes.

A dragon.

A fucking _dragon._

I half expected the blow, but from what I could see the man had been thrown off balance and nearly tumbled backwards over his own weapon.

What in _hell?_

Then _It_ bellowed. It came as thunder, the sound rolling over my still prone body even as it hit the executioner and the men behind me like a wall. Bodies dropped hard to the floor. Then the shouting started. My heart – which had been strangely calm over the previous minutes – kicked back to life like a rabbit's, frozen air catching like knives in my chest. I pulled up in a panic, lost balance, and landed on the body of the Stormcloak still leaking blood like a broken pipe.

"Muster the defences!" Tullius' voice rose over the rest. "Archers to the ready!"

_Up, up, up, I had to get UP!_

My legs felt like willow branches as I half scrambled, half crawled, rending my skin as I went. I could feel the damage, but without properly feeling the pain there was no way to assess the injury. I was also drenched in someone else's blood, the knees of the rags I was reduced to soaked through so much they were sticking. I could do no more than continue: crawl, scramble, run, fall; crawl, scramble, run –

"Elf!"

Through the chaos I heard the Nord.

"In here!"

With no other options whatsoever, I surged toward the broken tower, falling through the lintel on my injured knee as it collapsed beneath me.

"Are you alright, elf?"

"She should have run to her Thalmor friends!"

I spat blood out of my mouth.

"I have no friends there!"

"And you have no friends here!"

The newly un-gagged Ulfric's glare was like fire in a thunderhead, surpassing every other emotion as he watched me on the floor. But before I could say another word there was yet another crash from overhead.

"Here," Ralof seemed to give Ulfric a sideways look as he grabbed the nearest knife to cut my bonds. "Can it be true?" He continued, staring out of the open door with something like awe. "I thought they were just a legend!"

"Legends don't burn down villages!"

As if on cue, an explosion burnt onto my eyes, rattling around the courtyard and mingling with the rising smoke.

"We have to get out of here!" The man continued to Ralof. "Up through the tower!"

"To _where?_" I hated how panicked I sounded. Ulfric didn't even spare me an answer as he charged up the stone staircase, Ralof on his heels. To my surprise, the blonde Nord took my arm, dragging me along with him. With my lame knee and numb feet, we fell behind, but suddenly I had no intention to die in that city. I never realised up until then how much I wanted to _live_. Not even when I was racing for the border had I felt such an imperative: with an enemy flesh and blood bearing down, I felt _charged_. We were half way up, Ulfric having pulled ahead, when the wall imploded.

"Get back!"

Ralof pulled us to the side just in time. A jet of fire roared into the hole like a miniature sun, turning the stone black as it went. Someone screamed down below, but then it was gone and I couldn't think about it. My whole body seemed to be screaming _out! out! out! _and Ralof was already standing at the edge of the hole.

"There! The inn – jump! Go!"

He pushed. For all my youth climbing trees, by Akatosh I hated _heights_. The dragon snarled from what seemed mere feet away as I launched forward, all elegance gone as I aimed for the now roofless second story. I was lucky the boards didn't just give as I landed, hard, skidding and stumbling to my hands and knees.

Light flared against my right eye, and with horror I realised the wood had caught. Why wouldn't it? With a cry of panic, I flopped forward and dashed to a hole in the floor. I landed on broken wood, ash and frozen soil. It hurt.

"Ralof!"

The smoke expelled me through a gap and back into the courtyard.

"Ralof!"

"Here!"

I lurched towards the speaker, but it wasn't Ralof; it was the Imperial with the execution list.

"You? Hamming – Gunnar, take the boy! Get him safe! Prisoner!"

"You look surprised."

It's amazing what comes out of your mouth when you're under stress. The Imperial gave me a look that might (given any other situation) have been described as wry.

"You're still alive," we ducked as another fireball flew overhead. "And you'll keep close to me if you want to stay that way! Come on!"

Sword at the ready, he bolted into the gap between the buildings and the wall, me following for want of something better to do.

"Down!"

Suddenly we were both pressed against the stone, the great bulk of the dragon perched above our heads. It bellowed again, roaring and snarling as if its purpose depended solely on Helgen's destruction. Which was odd, really – odder than the beast being there in the first place. As good a way as any to announce its presence to the world at large, and yet –

"This way!"

The Imperial grasped my tunic with one hand and his sword with the other, hauling us into the open. It quickly became apparent that the battle was being lost – fast. The soldiers were scattered, either through injury or split between the sparse shelter, and the dragon itself seemed to be toying with them, heedless of the arrows that bounced harmlessly off of the obsidian scales. With another roar, the battlements were consumed in a firestorm the like of which I'd only imagined in the hands of the Aldmeri battlemages. It was like something out of a nightmare.

I stumbled, my knee throbbing horribly.

"Quickly prisoner!"

"Hadvar!" We rounded the corner only to be faced with a drawn sword. "Unhand her!"

The Imperial – Hadvar – only tightened his hand on my upper arm.

"What would a Stormcloak care of an elf, Ralof?" He spat acerbically. Ralof growled menacingly.

"Unhand her now!"

"You were once a man of honour – look at you now! A traitor to his own people!"

"The only traitor I see here is the Imperial puppet, Hadvar! You will let her go!"

"_Oh for the sodomy of Magnus himself!_" I was perhaps lucky no human can quite appreciate how offensive that expletive really is on Alinor. Still, I have no doubt they recognised a curse when they heard one as I ripped my arm away from Hadvar.

"I have no reason to trust your jarl!" I shot at Ralof. "And YOU just _oh so politely_ tried to have my head lopped off! _Fuck the both of you!_"

And before I could change my mind, I was sprinting across the yard and skidding beneath a flyover still laden with a last stand of bowmen. The dragon behind me, I hopped between piles of rubble and scanned frantically for a gap in the wall. Thankfully, none of the soldiers could be bothered with an unarmed prisoner when there were rebels and a dragon to contend with. Not that I would've done so well with a weapon. I knew to hold the blunt end of a blade and jab with pointy end, but beyond that, martial training wasn't at the forefront of a secretary's skillset. As I said, I'd killed before, but that only proved I had the will to stay alive, not that I was any good at it.

I wonder what that said about me.

"INCOMING!"

I barely had time to leap aside as the explosion hit. Screams assaulted my ears like a horrific, never ending song, thundering inside my head until I could only cower.

"GENERAL!"

"Hold the line!" Tullius suddenly appeared, half his face smeared with blood and ash.

"WE SHOULD WITHDRAW!"

"And we will once our men are clear! Hold!"

"YES GENERAL! KEEP FIRING – YOU!"

At any other time in my life, I might have been able to dodge her. But with a lame knee, no sleep, borderline malnutrition and a little under two days without water it was actually a miracle I was still standing. The captain almost ran me through with a spear before deciding I was better alive. She lunged and pinned me against a wall of splintered wood, slamming my head into a beam. For the second time in under ten minutes, my stomach rebelled.

By all the divinity of the ancient Admeri, I was _not just_ _giving up!_

The world kaleidoscoped…

To my disbelief, I was moving. I was not so far gone, however, as to believe it was still me deciding the direction. Nothing was clear: not vision, not hearing, not smell, but I was still alive. My muscles still sang in agony, and _that_ meant there was still fight left. It was the absolute consistency in a torturer's report: when they felt no more pain _that_ was when they expired, one way or another. I _felt_.

_I was _stillalive.

"GENERAL!"

"Get ready to move! Yes, Captain Ayira?"

"I FOUND THIS SCU –"

My eyes cleared just as the stone shook so violently the captain lost her grip – then the wall crumpled, taking the flyover and the guardhouse with it. Broken mortar and blocks of debris the size of small rooms levelled all before them, building and body, smashing through what remained of the legionnaires. A boy screamed. I could see the general waving his arms, gesturing for retreat. The rubble now formed a slope towards a sizable hole beyond which I saw forest, boughs crested with snow, birds retreating in every direction.

It was now or never.

Not caring that the ruins ripped at my feet and knees and elbows, shifting like quicksand, I scrambled forward. There was nothing in the known world that could've stopped me. I felt, but didn't hear, the screams torn from my throat; I only registered the blast of cold air as it hit me from the gap. I was falling, dropping hard over the other side and rolling, finally, onto the frozen road.

I should've realised this would make me a perfect target for the dragon now harrying the survivors, but it didn't so much as cross my mind. I never gave it the chance. Still half crawling, I bolted for the trees, the underbrush whipping my face and legs as I ran. Even as the roars and shouting faded behind me, I kept going.

Freezing air coated my lungs with something like acid, cramping the bottom of my throat. I'd never felt anything like it. Until I fell, ungracefully, into a heap at the base of an oak, the snow seeped instantly into my skin. My heart's drum slowly slackened, and my mind spun to a stop.

I don't know how long I lay there.

I might have frozen solid and bypassed an entire age of the world. At the very least skipped an era or two.

Lying upon Nirn's back, I almost wished I had.

Slowly, _ever so slowly_, the ringing stopped, replaced by the trilling of birds and the scuffling of small animals. So cold; so _clear_.

_Trills_.

Not the deep, elaborate calls of the rainforest, but light and short.

_So curious…_

Somewhere…in the dusty backroom archives of my mind…I knew I was dying. The sun filtered down like looking through a diamond; all white flecked with purple and green. Not the deep gold of home. _I think I rather liked it._

I knew I should get up.

I also knew I barely had the strength to lift my arms.

_All that – all that running – all to die of exposure, claimed by Skyrim itself. Which was ironic, really, since not even the soil of my birth had been _that _possessive. As if the land had felt my coming and accepted me without argument._

_As if it was right for me to die in this cold forest, far from home._

_Was I so far?_

_It felt…I felt…alright…_

* * *

"Elf? Elf, are you still breathing? Damned foolish creatures. Not built for the snows. Why did you have to run from us? _Damned elf._" The last words were whispered gently. But then there were hands and an intake of breath and suddenly the world tilted on its side, causing my already groggy head to spin. I whimpered pathetically, but had no strength to do much more than obey. _"Hold on. Hold on!"_

"_Ralof! Oh Ralof – who is this?"_

"_She needs to warm up by the fire. And those wounds look as if they'll fester given half the chance."_

"_But who is she, brother?"_

"_Hod, run and tell Delphine I'll need whatever healing potion she can concoct and bandages to soak in it. Hurry! Geurdur, the blankets!"_

"_But you have not said who it is you bring, Ralof! And an elf to boot! If this is your idea of taking the spoils –"_

"_Dear sister, she was caught in the ambush with us and now she lies dying, there is nothing more to it."_

"_Who. Is. She?"_

"_I…don't know. I don't know. But there's something about her…"_

"_She is a valuable asset, despite her obvious physical defects. Very precocious in her work for both us and for the institution from which she applied for this position. I would say she is harmless, but then none of our…_associates_…are entirely harmless."_

"_YOU CANNOT DO THIS!"_

"_I can save you! There's a ship…"_

"_There are a group of Bosmer in the rooms below. Transcribe a note for the duty officer would you? And don't take too long, I'm told he has a dinner date."_

"_I don't care if they torture me, you'll be long gone. I love you! Aesuidhiel! Aesuidh –"_

"_Terminate her."_

"_NO!"_

I woke screaming. I had no knowledge of where I was, and for a horrifying moment I thought I was back in Alinor, in the re-education chambers. At this I screamed even more.

"Easy – easy! Hush! It's alright!"

"_No…no…_"

"You're safe now. Ralof, get me another cloth! She's still burning like the hearth!"

"_Aeroniel…don't…_"

"She'll not last the night like this."

"Delphine says she's done all she can. Now it's up to her."

"_Not home…_" the walls looked as if they were made of spider silk. "_So…bright. How do you stand it? All the time…so bright…_"

"Is she talking about the snows? Don't suppose she's ever seen them."

"They know _nothing_ of us."

"_The only thing worse than the insects that call themselves humanity are the lowlings that call themselves elves. _We _are the true representatives of the Aldmer. _We _are made in the image of our ancestors, not the so called dark-elves or wood-elves – corruptions and dilutions of our blood!_

"_In any event, it is our duty in the interests of preserving the purity of our traditions that we correct that…error."_

I felt like I was caught endlessly in the moment that precedes hitting the ground. Time ceased to exist properly, yet I wasn't asleep. I seemed to flash between dreams, yet I was aware of the fire and the act of lying before it. I was afraid. Like a child caught in the anvil of a thunderhead.

_A roaring filled my ears like the wind screaming over the peaks of the mountains. Except it wasn't the wind…_

* * *

"Well, here I thought we were going to bury you. Even bought the wood. Picked a spot by that willow down near the water."

I hacked a cough through cracked lips.

"Don't think I'm not happy though. You came to us with Ralof and you're more than welcome to stay a while until you're on your feet."

"I dreamed of…" I couldn't say. It felt like it would bring the Dominion swooping down just by speaking the name. The large man standing above me, however, seemed to understand, smiling and nodding sadly.

"In fever dreams we see many things. Sometimes they're real. Sometimes they're not. Sometimes they're things we've lost forever, or escaped long ago. Pay them no mind, little elf." He turned and I watched as he went to retrieve a bottle of something from the high shelf.

"Oh, Geurder said she would speak with you if you are well enough."

"And Ralof?"

"Heh," the man gave a cheeky look. "And here I thought my wife was exaggerating. Your sweetheart be down by the sawmill, enjoying the sun while it lasts. Don't suppose you know about our winters, do you elf?"

I struggled into a sitting position; an odd mote easier whilst I was distracted fighting a blush.

"I met Ralof only days ago and, by all accounts, I presume it was he who saved my life. I merely wish to think him." I pushed for 'firm', but it came out terribly scratchy. The man just chuckled.

"Oh, only the best sagas have it thus!"

"Who is Geurdur?"

"My wife; Ralof's sister. She'll be up talking to Delphine at the inn."

I nodded, and pushed myself up.

Well…I did push. I managed to get my bottom off of the floor. The rest of me, however…

"Whoa, whoa, easy! Easy!"

"I –"

"It wouldn't do to overexert yourself, now. We don't want a repeat of the last few nights. I'll go and fetch Geurder for you here."

I nodded faintly as he turned abruptly and strode out of the room. Or…out of the cottage as the case may have been. It wasn't very big. And, on closer inspection, I appeared to be in the main part of it, laid out on a pallet of furs before the hearth. The walls were made of cut wood, overlaid with some kind of plaster, although there were places where stone had been used as well. The smell that rose was warm and musty; full of animal hide, lumber, earth and woodsmoke, but it wasn't unpleasant. On the contrary, it made me think of nests.

"Good. You're awake."

I looked up to the entrance of two women, one a little older than Ralof, the other seemingly in her mid-fifties. The younger moved confidently around what was, clearly, her home and retrieved a cup full of water before offering it to me. Gratefully, I took it, but there was something about the older woman that made me…_uneasy_. She eyed me curiously.

"Now, I know you must be still weak from your ordeal, but we must know –"

"What of the dragon?" The older woman asked, eyes searching.

"Um…" I looked between them. "I don't know." Somehow I knew that wouldn't be enough. "It was black," I tried slowly. "And it seemed to...to want chaos more than slaughter. It was almost as if it was making a point, or…something else. I don't know, truly. I did think the dragons were just legend – an ancient part of Nord history, long forgotten."

"You know of Nord history?" The elder woman said sharply.

"There were many things in my father's library others never bothered with." I muttered. "I found reading of the Dragon Cults surprisingly allegoric."

She frowned deeply at this.

"Is that so? An allegory of…_what_, might I ask?"

Her glare was intense and I suddenly had the distinct impression she could see right through me. The hairs on the back of my neck prickled to attention and I found myself staring back, wondering what she saw.

"Well," the younger woman – Geurder, it must have been – looked between us, unsure all of a sudden. "I was more concerned with where the beast might have gone since. We haven't seen sign of it since you arrived, but I doubt it would've been defeated. Not with Helgen destroyed. We are defenceless here, if it should come! Only…"

"Only no one would believe us." The older woman finished dryly. "Only a handful believed Ralof! It'll take one swooping over their heads before they acknowledge the tale!"

"But," Geurder looked at me pointedly. "If both of you were to say so, perhaps that would change people's minds."

I blinked owlishly at both of them.

"Is there a problem?" The elder challenged suspiciously.

"I dreamed of a dragon."

I'm not quite sure why it came out then, but it seemed…important somehow.

"That is certainly interesting." The older woman seemed to consider something. Geurder still looked confused.

"Perhaps she is still ill. Delphine –"

"No." With a great effort, I managed to lift myself off the floor and, dressed in what appeared to be a linin gown, wobbled to my feet. "I wish to talk to Ralof."

Without waiting for a reply, I continued shakily into the sunlight. It seemed the epitome of a small, Nordic village, the cobbles cold and rough beneath my feet. They seemed to sap all the strength I'd regained, but in reality it hardly took long to find the river and the man sat with his feet dangling over the jetty.

The sun sparkled off the water as I gingerly sat beside him. It took all my concentration not to collapse into the river, but I managed it after a fashion. He glanced at me in surprise, smiling broadly before turning back out to the river. I could feel the cold air pattering against my skin, tingling in places; stinging harshly in others. The tips of my toes just reached the water, but I kept them upturned after the discovery that it was _icy _cold.

I was dully surprised, all in all, despite everything.

I was still alive.

_Mostly_.

Theoretically.

"Thank you." It was a simple thing to say. Ralof inclined his head.

"Well, I could hardly have let the frost take you, now could I?" He chuckled. "Even if you are an elf."

"They'll hunt me."

"The empire? Bah. You weren't even on their precious 'list'. They'll have forgotten you by tomorrow. Besides, this is _our_ land. If you are a free woman in the eyes of the Nords, in Skyrim it will be so."

"You think it is that simple?" I said suddenly, genuinely surprised. Ralof just shrugged.

"It will be. As soon as this land is ours once more."

"You think that because I fight and die with your people your Jarl Ulfric will see me as any more than an elf?" He looked taken aback as I turned away, looking blankly to the opposite bank. "Besides, 'tis not the empire I fear."

"Not the –" then it seemed to sink in.

"It's possible they believe I'm dead. But that won't stop them."

Ralof fell silent.

"They killed my sister." My voice broke without warning. "But _how_…_how can I_…when _so_ _many_ others are dead? _They killed so many_.

"_They_…they. Killed. Her." I said finally. "And I've been running ever since."

He was quiet for a long time, the water running smoothly past us beneath the sun. When Ralof turned once again, he frowned as if unsure of how to reconcile his view of me. He finally spoke, seeming to decide.

"What will you do now?"

"I don't know."

The sun glanced off the water's surface like arcs of white-gold.

"I don't know."

* * *

_**A.N: Well, there it is: started this a year ago and all. Lost, found, completed, edited, lost again (played Skyrim for ages and remembered it was there) and now I'm posting it here. Rather a decent refinement time, I think. Better than some of the stuff I have that desperately needs a look at. Either way, I'm happy with this (and, yes, I am experimenting with formatting).**_

_**More reviews, perhaps? I know I ask every time, but it does help. It really does :)**_


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